The First Field

Some of our earliest conversations about full-time missions happened on long walks around our neighborhood. Three years later, many of those same conversations still happen there. There is something beautiful about the ordinary rhythms God uses to shape us. A walk. A conversation. A prayer. A question we return to again and again.

Recently, I looked back at my Apple Watch data and realized something that made me laugh: since those first conversations about missions began, we have walked enough miles to have reached Petén, Guatemala. Of course, we haven't actually walked there. Not yet. But in another sense, we have.

Those miles have carried conversations about surrender and fear, excitement and uncertainty. They have carried tears over what we might miss and gratitude for what God has allowed us to experience. They have carried prayers for the people we will serve and prayers for the people we will leave behind.

I remember one of the earliest tears I cried on those walks was over grandchildren I hadn't even met yet. I wondered what it would cost to live overseas. Would we miss birthdays? Holidays? First words? First steps? The thought of not being there for the birth of our future grandchildren was the hardest cost to count.

The miles themselves were never the point. The walking was never about getting somewhere faster. God was using those ordinary walks to form us long before we ever stepped onto a mission field.

Around that same time, I was wrestling with something much smaller, but somehow just as significant. I was convinced I wasn't a city person. I couldn't be a city person. I didn't want to be a city person. Funny how the Lord works.

This year, we’ve had the privilege of serving twice in Brooklyn, New York. I still don't think you'll ever find me dreaming about city life, but those weeks gave me something I didn't have before, an open heart. I understand in a new way why urban ministry matters. I understand the weight people carry there and the beauty of bringing hope into places where quiet is hard to find.

We have no plans to move to Brooklyn. But God wasn't trying to make me into a city person. He was teaching me that His call is first to Himself.

The geography matters. Petén matters. The people God has called us to serve matter. That lesson has been repeated over and over these last three years. Our walk with Him matters most.

One of the running jokes when we first met with our original mission organization was that their preparation process took about three years. People would laugh and say that by the time you reached the mission field, you wouldn't even want to go anymore. At the time, that sounded impossible. We are hyper-productive, goal-oriented, high-achieving Americans! We would be ready so much sooner!

Those conversations started in August 2023. Here we are, almost exactly three years later, and we're still two months away from leaving. I don’t know if the Lord laughs, but we certainly have.

Some days that timeline has felt painfully long. Today, it just makes me smile. Somewhere along these years of walking, I realized that the field God cared about first wasn't Guatemala.

Scripture is full of fields. Mission fields. Battlefields. Fields ready for harvest. Fields where seeds are planted and patiently grown. Before any of those comes the field of the human heart. That's where God has been working all along.

Our first grandchild will arrive any day now. And guess what? We're still here. There may be future births we experience through FaceTime instead of hospital rooms. There may be milestones we celebrate from another country. But by God's utterly undeserved, glorious grace, we didn't miss this one.

Three years once felt like an eternity. In our productivity-driven minds, we were certain we could have been ready sooner. We faithfully participated in every step of preparation we were given, but looking back, I can see something much better than our own planning. The Lord was preparing us all along.

He strengthened our marriage. He gave our family time to adjust. He restored my physical health in ways I didn't know I needed. He patiently reshaped fears I didn't even realize I was carrying. Most importantly, He drew us closer to Himself.

As I've been studying Ephesians these past few weeks, one tiny word keeps capturing my attention: in. Paul repeats it over and over. In Christ. In Him. That's our true location. Before we are anywhere else, we are in Christ. Long before we're in Guatemala, we're in Christ.

Maybe that's what missionary preparation, and really, the whole Christian life, is meant to teach us. Missions isn't a special category of discipleship. It's simply another place where God forms ordinary Christians into people who trust Him more than they did before. The geography changes, but the process doesn't.

It took longer than we expected, and it didn't cost everything we anticipated. And in both of those surprises, we've discovered the kindness of God. He wasn't delaying us. He was faithfully cultivating the first field all along.